Rodney, the Ranger, with Daniel Morgan on Trail and Battlefield

by John V. Lane

  CHAPTER XIV

  HORNETS WITH AND WITHOUT WINGS

  During Francois's visit a runner came in with the report that twoIndians, descending the Ohio River in a canoe, had been fired upon andkilled by the whites. Inflamed by the brandy they had drank, andinfuriated by the report, several of the younger men blacked theirfaces, set up a war post and danced around it in the firelight likedemons, yelling and throwing their hatchets into the post. Thefollowing morning a party of them set out for revenge.

  On such occasions Rodney kept in hiding as much as possible and hismind was dark with forebodings, so that he would wake in the nightfrom dreams of torture and find himself wet with perspiration.

  A little later Logan himself came to the village, pleading that theIndians dig up the hatchet and unite in a war of revenge upon thewhites for the outrage committed against him. He was a distinguishedlooking Indian, straight and tall, a typical chieftain of the bettersort. Ahneota pleaded the necessity of delay, but, that being of noavail, urged him to secure the services of Cornstalk, the wise andwily Shawnee chief.

  Rodney sympathized with the Indians until a returning party broughtback scalps torn from the heads of women and children as well as frommen, and then his heart sickened and he looked on them with tremblingto see if among them he could discover that of his father.

  Having no rifle, the boy armed himself with the bow, this being hisonly defence in case of attack, though he knew it would be of littleuse against savages armed with rifles. One day, in the latter part ofJuly, he was strolling through the forest not far from the villagewhen he heard voices.

  During his captivity Rodney had learned to stalk game and thistraining he now put to use. Stealthily approaching, he saw a group ofstrange Indians, and with them Caughnega. The latter had set up, in alittle opening among the trees, his wigwam of skins, in which he wasaccustomed to perform certain of the rites of a "medicine man." Theboy knew that Caughnega's fame was not confined to the local tribes,and at once concluded these Indians had come to consult him, probablyas to what the spirits, good and evil, might have to say respectingthe approaching war.

  Evidently Caughnega had begun his work, for he was now ready to enterhis wigwam. Silence came upon the group waiting patiently outside.After quite a long wait a medley of sounds issued from the interiorof the wigwam in which Caughnega was shut and the structure itselfrocked as if in a gale. Knowing that Indians can mimic the sounds ofall animals and birds with which they are acquainted, the boy had nodoubt these sounds were made by Caughnega himself. If so, he wascertainly an artist, and the assembled group sat around awestruck, forthey had no doubt the noises were made by the spirits.

  After the disturbance subsided, Caughnega came out and, standingbefore them, addressed them, telling what, he said, the spirits hadtold him. The message incited the savages to great ardour, which theymanifested by brandishing their tomahawks and yelling.

  "So this is the work that villain is doing unknown to Ahneota,"thought Rodney. Just then he espied a large nest of hornets suspendedto a limb overhanging the group. He recognized the nest as that of avariety of hornet which is large and valiant. The spirit of mischiefentered the boy and, taking careful aim, he shot an arrow, whichstruck and tore away a portion of the paper nest.

  Now a hornet does not hold a council of war when disturbed, butinstantly attacks, like an Indian, the first object that presentsitself, and in this instance Caughnega was the first target.

  He stood, his back toward the nest, pouring out the words of themessage in sonorous tones. Suddenly this flow of language waspunctuated by a blood-curdling yell, as one of those winged bulletsstruck him just behind the left ear. About the same moment others inthe group were hit. Yells and back somersaults were mingled for amoment, and then those doughty warriors fled as never from the face ofa white man.

  Rodney lay on the ground in convulsions of silent laughter.

  On returning to the village the boy related his story to the oldchief, who listened gravely and at the end said, "The Great Spiritwill be angry."

  "Do you believe the 'medicine man' can talk with him?" asked Rodney,incredulously.

  "Ahneota knows the ways of the birds and the beaver, but the ways ofthe spirits he does not know. I see the medicine lodge tremble andhear voices; they are not the voices of Indians."

  Rodney did not dare to argue the matter, and there was silence for along time. In the flickering firelight the old chief's face wasghastly.

  The boy fell into an unpleasant reverie. Soon would come the momentwhen he must flee, for to remain, he was sure, would mean his death.The difficulties of escape, because of the uprising among the Indians,had greatly increased.

  "Between here and La Belle Riviere are many Mingoes, Delawares andShawnees. Little Knife cannot fly nor leap from tree to tree likepanther. He must be brother of Ahneota."

  The boy was startled. It seemed to him that the Indian had beenreading his thoughts.

  "The paleface comes and Ahneota's brother must take his scalp. ThatLittle Knife cannot do," Rodney replied.

  Silence of many minutes followed. Rodney became uneasy and was aboutto leave when the chief, taking a stick in his trembling hand, drew itover the sand and began to describe the country which lay between themand the Ohio River.

  "Before another moon," he said, "the palefaces will come in manycanoes to the Indians' country. Little Knife will run to meet them. Hewill not be the brother of the chief. He must go to his people. Hemust go like the fox."

  The following day Ahneota called in several men of the village andRodney. Then, giving his rifle to the boy, he said: "Little Knife hasbeen brother of Ahneota, has brought him meat when he starved. He musthave gun to bring more meat, for the chief is old and cannot hunt."

  The Indians did not look pleased, for the rifle was a valuable one andmuch coveted. One said, "White blood must be washed away," but, as theold chief made no reply, they went away.

  As the boy started to leave the lodge the Indian lifted his head andsaid, "When Little Knife points the old chief's gun at man, let himnot see the colour of skin."

  Rodney now began to store up, against the emergency he knew wasapproaching, a stock of dried venison, and hominy and parched corn.His experience when surrounded by hostile savages had taught him thedifficulty of securing food on the march.

  As he lay in the shadow of a bush one day he noticed a little wormtravelling along a twig. It was the variety commonly called an "inchworm," which advances by pulling its rear up to its forward feet, itsback in a curve, and then thrusts forward its length. As the boywatched its laborious progress he thought, "If one may only keep goinghe'll get there in time," and somehow he felt encouraged. Had he notthought it his duty to remain and care for the old chief he would haveset forth that very hour.

  As he came near the village several guns were fired in quicksuccession down at the creek and he knew a party of savages hadreturned from one of their raids!

  The inmates of the village hurried down to meet the newcomers, but theboy lagged behind. Soon they came running back and formed two lines.Some captive must run the gauntlet!

  The prisoner was a man of forty years or more. His hair was long andmatted and his arms were bound. Evidently his captors had found him adifficult subject with whom to deal. In running the gauntlet he couldnot ward off the blows, his arms being tied, but he delivered one welldirected kick that doubled a brave up in agony. He got through, butwas horribly beaten. All the while he was yelling at the savages inderision, calling them old women and apparently doing everything inhis power to enrage them.

  A post was set in the ground in front of the encampment, and theprisoner was led out and tied to it. On the way he kicked an Indian,who in his rage would have killed him on the spot, had not anotherinterfered. Sudden death in preference to torture was evidently whatthe captive sought, but it was not to be granted.

  Thinking Ahneota might prevent the torture, which now seemedinevitable, Rodney hurried to the chief's lodge. Within, it was almostdark
and he could but dimly see the figure of the man seated on a bearskin, his back against a bale of furs. His head was inclined forward,his chin on his breast.

  "Ahneota!" called the boy loudly in his excitement, but there was noanswer.

  Thinking the Indian slept, the boy grasped him by the arm to wakehim.

  Ahneota had passed to the "happy hunting ground!"